Till Death
by Ellynne
Summary: Gold asks David how to tell Belle about his wife


There was something about having a heart to heart chat with Gold that was unnerving, David thought.

Well, there were a lot of things, most of them pretty obvious. This was _Gold._ Having a _heart to heart chat._

Not to mention the kind of things David could imagine Gold wanting to have a chat about.

Less obvious and most unnerving of all was being the person Gold felt he could have a heart to heart chat with – especially, as it turned out, _this _chat.

"It's something I have to tell Belle," Gold told him. "And I'm not sure how."

Things had changed with Gold. He had, after all, helped with Henry's nightmares. For that alone, David owed him (not that he planned on ever using dangerous words like "owed" around Gold, not till he was a lot more sure how deep some of the changes he saw ran). There had been other things since then. In a cautious, wary sort of way, he was – maybe – beginning to trust the dealmaker.

At least as far as he could throw him.

So, here he was, after finishing the latest discussion of what they could – and couldn't – do to get David's wife and daughter back without unleashing a witch possibly more murderous and less principled than Regina on the town, listening while Gold discussed his personal difficulties.

"I was married," he said, then went on without giving David any time to recover from that world view altering announcement. "I didn't know any magic back then," he went on, adding to the earthshaking revelations. "I was just . . . ordinary, I suppose."

David wondered how "ordinary" ordinary had ever been in Gold's case, but he nodded, letting him go on with his story. It was easier than trying to choke out questions.

"Our village was near the sea. We weren't a major port, but there were ships that came and went. One day – one day a neighbor came and told me sailors had seized my wife. They'd taken her aboard their ship, which was about to leave when the tide changed.

"Our town didn't have any guardsmen, not really. There were some soldiers stationed nearby – there was a war going on – but they only came to make sure we sent our share of supplies and men – nearly all the men in the village were gone. Or dead. Even when the harvest was poor, the Duke's tribute wasn't lessened. As the war dragged on, with all the able bodied men gone, our fields produced less and less. His share only increased. And he began to demand our daughters for the fighting, as well as our sons. Pirates, smugglers, his grace didn't care so long as the goods he needed kept flowing."

All the men gone? But, Rumplestiltskin hadn't been among them. "You weren't one of the soldiers?"

Gold grimaced. "I had been. Not a very good one." He indicated his lame leg. "That's where I got this.

Right. The leg. Rumplestiltskin could radiate such an air of menace when he wanted – David had once had to drag him off Moe French, a man who outweighed him by a hundred pounds or more, and Moe had been losing – he tended to forget the man was lame.

But, this was before Rumplestiltskin was . . . Rumplestiltskin. He hadn't actually said – and David knew to be careful about the difference between what Rumplestiltskin _implied_ and what he actually said – but it sounded like he'd been a peasant, maybe a farmer, as David himself had once been.

Before Rumplestiltskin had decided to take a hand in his life.

A lame farmer, not thought good enough to serve with the others.

"I went to the boat. To speak to the captain. I hoped . . . ." Gold shook his head. "It doesn't matter. He . . . refused my request. The captain said . . . ." Gold's mouth twisted bitterly. "His _men_ needed _companionship._" Gold's eyes were dark, focused on something only he could see. David felt his gut clench, remembering when King George had held Snow. He had been terrified for her but tried to tell himself that George, who had valued the ancient lineages and what he called "nobility of blood" wouldn't kill a king's daughter – not a king's _true_ daughter, whatever he thought of his own, changeling foster-son. It hadn't done much to help his fears.

But, if George had told him that . . . . David wondered sometimes if he'd made a mistake, letting George live. If he'd done _that_ to Snow – and thrown it in David's face, George would only be another name in Storybrooke's graveyard.

"He offered to duel me for her," Gold added, his voice was calm, distant. "He threw a sword at my feet and told me a real man would fight for what he wanted."

David had dueled Rumplestiltskin. The dealmaker was faster than any mortal and able to catch a sword in his bare hands without taking a scratch.

Or he was now.

"You said you were a man, then," David said. "An ordinary man?"

Gold's hand tightened on his cane, old memories in his eyes. "Yes."

"And lame."

"Yes."

"It would have been a slaughter."

"Yes. I see I don't need to tell you I didn't pick it up, since you can see I'm not dead. You would have, wouldn't you? If it had been your wife's life at stake?"

". . . . I'm a hotheaded fool. As you've told me. I'd have picked it up. And I'd be dead."

The dark, haunted look in Gold's eyes didn't go away. "You're a hero, Charming. I think you'd surprise yourself." He hesitated. "If . . . if your daughter had been born, if you had been able to raise her in our world and she was waiting at home, still asleep, not knowing what had happened to her mother or what was happening to you, would you still pick up that sword? Knowing – knowing she would lose both parents if you failed?"

David stared at Gold, wondering where that question was coming from. He felt like he was perched at the edge of a precipice, about to fall into dark, unknown territories if he dared ask the question he couldn't admit was forming at the back of his mind.

"I . . . I don't know."

Gold hmphed, as if he thought David was humoring, him but didn't press him any farther.

"Years passed. Times changed. I . . . developed my talent for magic.

"And, then, one day, I chanced to meet that same captain.

"He remembered me but claimed not to remember Milha, my wife, not till I threatened to dig the memory out of his skull if necessary.

"Then, he told me she had died.

"It's strange," he went on in that calm, distant voice. "That's what I'd told myself for years. That she died. I knew . . . enough. Enough about men like that, enough about what happened to some of the refugees from the war, to the women desperate enough to offer 'companionship' for a few coins. We were only a small port and we tried to keep the worst of what went on in the cites from happening in our streets, but there were bodies found by the docks sometimes . . . . I thought I'd known for years. That she was dead. That I killed her when I walked away and left her behind . . . . I wondered if, wherever the crew had her, she'd been able to hear everything that passed between me and the captain, if she knew I left her to them, to her death. And worse than death.

"But, I hadn't believed it, not really. Because, it wasn't till he confirmed it that I felt something die inside of me . . . .

"I challenged him to a duel.

"I gave him time to get his affairs in order and told him I would find him at dawn. And I told his crew exactly what I would do to them if they tried to help him escape.

"My magic . . . I was still new to it, in those days. Not always . . . sane, I suppose you might say. There were things I did . . . . Well, that's neither here nor there. It wouldn't have been a fair fight, but I didn't feel like giving him one. I meant to tear the heart right out of him."

David thought he would have done the same. And yet, he could hear the things Gold wasn't saying, too. "What stopped you?"

Dark, bitter amusement flared in Gold's eyes. Amusement that David had seen that, amusement – and bitterness – at the answer. "You haven't guessed? I'd have thought it was obvious.

"Milha stopped me.

"It seemed the captain lied when he said she was dead. And when he told me why he wanted her on his ship. He hadn't been thinking of his crew.

"I knew I was . . . a disappointment to Milha. I came back alive when the other men came back dead. That wasn't an easy thing to live with in our village. Not for her. Not for me." He seemed to add the second part only as an afterthought. "She'd told me once she wished I'd had the grace to leave her an honored widow rather than saddled with . . . . Well, never mind. She had a sharp tongue when she was angry. Which had been most of the time towards the end.

"Maybe I should have guessed. Maybe she told herself I had when I walked away instead of fighting for her. Maybe she told herself I didn't deserve her, not if I'd leave her leave her to that.

"Maybe she was right.

"Not that I was thinking of that at the time. It was only later, when . . . . You know, the worst of it wasn't what I did then.

"The worst was when I tried to undo it after."

"I don't understand."

"She'd not dead, Charming, if that's what you're wondering. She's not alive, either. What I did . . . . I couldn't find that captain again after. I heard he'd taken his ship and fled to another world. Not an easy thing to do, but I suppose he had good reason to avoid me. Too bad, really. I think he may have truly loved Milha, loved her enough to lie to me to protect her, even when he knew it would cost him his own life. True love's kiss might save her. If he was willing to try. If she didn't kill him before he even got close enough to try . . . ."

"What do you mean? What happened to her?"

"I've told you, Charming, that dead is dead. But, this was centuries ago. I was young – or young as far as evil abominations, go – new to my power, and not ready to admit there were any limits on it. Or that I couldn't set right everything I'd done wrong.

"The best I can do now is keep her from hurting others. Except sometimes. Regina seemed worth letting her out over."

"The wraith? That was – that was your _wife?_"

Gold nodded bleakly. "I told you, Charming. I can't undo it. I've tried. I've limited her as much as I'm able. You may have seen the gold medallion she wears. She can only hunt those who are marked with it. She can only leave her prison when she is summoned to hunt – and, believe me, I tried to make that summoning as difficult as I could. Once she's taken her prey, she returns to her prison. Unless the summoner holds her back. She's usually rational for a brief period after she's fed. I can speak to her for a little then."

"What – what does she _say?_"

Gold shrugged. "That I should let her out more often. She's never – she never shows any regret about her victims. Given who she's talking to, she might just be guarding her tongue. If so, she's gotten better at it than when she was alive. But, maybe death changed her. Maybe what I did to her changed her . . . . I've wondered, if I could send her across the border, where there still isn't magic, if it would finally end . . . . Not that I can see how to do it. Don't worry, I'm not planning on marking my fellow citizens just to send them across and see what happens, assuming she even she follows."

"But, she's gone," David said. "Regina sent her away."

"Regina did. But, it didn't stop Milha from going back to her prison – and, no, she didn't have any news on your wife and daughter, not that I could get from her. It's harder to communicate when she's there, and her mind was already slipping. And, I'm not planning on setting her loose to feed again anytime soon just so I can cross question her.

"But, that's what I haven't told Belle.

"And I think I'd better.

"Any suggestions?

o0o0o0o

**Edited to add: **This story actually started with me wondering why Rumplestiltskin is always so definite about death being permanent. He doesn't usually take blanket statements about what's possible and what's impossible without proof. Then, I thought about Henry's dreams – where he enters a realm between life and death – a place Rumple knows a lot about, and about the wraith, an _undead_ creature he knew how to summon and control.

Clearly, he knows a lot about the between state. It made me wonder if he hadn't created the wraith the same way Whale created his monster, by trying to bring back someone, only to find out, as Whale did, that you may not like what you get.

Who, then, would Rumple want to bring back? Who might he regret killing? Or, at least, want to tell off for what he how she'd treated him and Bae?


End file.
